For as long as I can remember, summer has been about “taking a drive,” and when the roads clear up, the special cars come out. For my entire life, literally all of it, my dad, Pat Parsons, has been a car guy. He has turned rust into one-of-a-kind cars for most of his life.
When he was a teenager, you could find him and his friends cranking wrenches instead of throwing on a sports uniform. Making beauty out of heaps of metal is one of my dad’s legacies. My dad is a man of many creative talents, and he has always been drawn to the rare or odd models of cars bumping up the cool factor to really cool.
He has run the gamut from Volkswagens and delivery vans to Corvettes and a few Porches but the one he has chosen to love for a lifetime is his ‘35 Plymouth checkered taxicab. Yes, it is painted to look like a bright yellow checkered cab. It is impossible to quantify how many times we have heard, “Hey, taxi, how much for a ride?” and my dad, still to this day, gives a proud wave and smile to the yellers.
She (does anyone else assign a gender to their vehicle? I sure do) is a beautiful, rare classic car. This car is a part of our family and for me, the Taxi feels kind of like a big sister. She has been a part of most of our time-stamped core memories and a lot of our childhood memories as well.
After my brother was born, he was brought home from the hospital in the taxi. We were dropped off at high school dances in the Taxi and my dad even took it off road to chauffeur me .
